Explore "A Rose" by Helen Gray Cone on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Too-perfect Rose, thy heavy breath has power / To wake a dim, an unexplained regret: / Art body to the soul of some deep hour / That all my seasons have not yielded yet?
But if it be so -- Hour, too-perfect Hour, / Ah, blow not full, though all the yearning days / Should tremble bud-like, since the wind must shower / Thine unreturning grace along the ways!